He puts his hands in his coat pockets and gives me a long, fierce look. He's studying me, hard. Weighing all the possibilities, every risk. When he looks away and sighs, I know I have convinced him.
'I just know I'm going to regret this, but fine. Here's the deal. You go, you get the kid, you look around. You can put in your two cents with the team. But you are not running the show. And the moment you feel even a little wobbly, you pull yourself the fuck out. I mean it, Smoky. I need you back, don't misunderstand me. But I need you back whole, and that means I don't necessarily need you back now. You understand?'
I bob my head like a child or a new army recruit, yes sir, yes sir, yes sir. I'm going, and I feel that this is an important thing. A victory. He raises a hand, waving Callie over. When she arrives, he tells her what he told me.
'You got it?' he asks, stern.
'Yes, sir. Understood.'
He shoots me one last glance. 'You guys have a plane to catch. Get out of here.'
I walk away with Callie before he can change his mind.
'I'd love to know how you pulled that one off, honey-love,' she murmurs to me. 'Just know that as far as I'm concerned, it's your show until you tell me otherwise.'
I don't reply. I'm too busy wondering if I've made a terrible mistake by getting back on the team.
9
SINCE WHEN DID we rate a private jet?' I ask.
'Remember I told you that we'd had two child abductions and recovered one alive?' Callie asks. I nod.
'Don Plummer was the father of the little girl we got back alive. He owns a small flight company. They sell planes, have a flying school, things like that. He offered to give the Bureau a jet pro bono, which of course we had to turn down. But--with no prompting from us--he wrote the Director and worked out giving us access when needed for a low price.' She shrugs and gestures at our surroundings. 'So when we need to get somewhere fast . . .'
There's an addition to the team on this flight. Some young-looking kid who seems to barely fit into his FBI persona. He looks like he should have an earring in one ear and gum in his mouth. I squint and see a hole for a piercing in his left lobe. Jeez. Maybe he does wear one when he's not on duty. He'd been introduced to me as a loaner from Computer Crimes. He sits a little off from everyone else, looking rumpled and half awake. An outsider. I look around. 'Where's Alan?' I ask.
A response comes from the front of the plane. More of a growl. 'I'm up here.' And that's all he says.
I look at Callie, eyebrows raised. She shrugs.
'Something's bugging him. He looked pretty pissed when we got here.' She gazes toward him for a moment, then shakes her head. 'I'd leave it alone for now, honey-love.'
I look toward the shadows that Alan is sitting in, wanting to do something. But Callie is right. And I need to be brought up to speed.
'Fill me in,' I say, accepting this. 'What do we have?'
I turn to James as I say this. He stares back at me, and I can see the hostility flaring up in his eyes. He radiates disapproval.
'You shouldn't be here,' he says.
I fold my arms and look at him. 'Yeah, well, I am.'
'It violates procedure. You'll be a liability to this investigation.' He shakes his head. 'You probably don't even have psych clearance yet, do you?'
Callie remains silent, and I'm thankful. This is a key moment, something I need to resolve myself.
'AD Jones cleared me.' I frown at him. 'Jesus, James. Annie King was a friend of mine.'
He stabs a finger toward me. 'All the more reason you shouldn't be here. You're too close to the investigation, and you'll fuck it up.'
Some part of me registers that an outsider, listening to this, would be aghast. They would not be able to believe that James is saying what he is saying. I'm inured to it--to some extent. This
'I'm here. I'm not going away. Deal with it, and give me all the details. Stop fucking with me.'
He pauses for a moment, examines me. I see him settle back. He shakes his head once in disapproval, but I know that he's given in.
'Fine. But I want it on record that I think this is a blatant violation of Bureau policy.'
'Duly noted.' My voice is a knife edge of sarcasm that dulls against his indifference.
'Good.' Now I see his eyes unfocus a bit. He doesn't have a file in front of him, but that computer brain of his is putting all the facts at his fingertips. 'Her body was found yesterday. They figure she was killed three days before that.'
I start at this. 'Three days?'
'Yes.'
'So how was the body found? Where?'
'The SF cops got an e-mail. It included an attachment, some photos. Of her. They went over to check it out, and they found the body and the child.'
My heart thuds in my chest, and I sense my stomach acids churning. I feel a sour burp just waiting to get out. 'Are you telling me that her daughter was there for more than three days with her dead mother?'
My voice comes out loud. Not a yell, but close. James looks at me, his face calm. Just relating the facts.
'Worse. The killer tied her to her mother's corpse. Face-to-face. She was tied like that for the whole time.'
Blood rushes to my head, and I feel faint. The burp comes up, silent but awful. I can feel its taste in my mouth. I put a hand to my forehead.
'Where's Bonnie now?'
'She's at one of the local hospitals, under guard. She's catatonic. Hasn't said a word since they found her.'
Silence at that. Callie breaks it.
'There's more, honey-love. Things we need you to hear before we land. Otherwise you are going to be caught flat-footed.'
I dread what is coming. I dread it like I dread going to sleep at night. But I grab on to myself, hard, and shake. I hope no one notices. 'Go ahead. Hit me with all of it.'
'Three things, and I'll just lay them all out, one after the other. First, she left her daughter to you, Smoky. The killer found her will and left it next to the body for us to find. You're named as the guardian. Second, your friend was running a sex site on the Internet that she was personally starring in. Third, the killer's e-mail to the cops included a letter addressed to you.'
My mouth hangs open. I feel like I have been beaten. As if, instead of speaking, Callie had grabbed a golf club and whacked me with it. My head is spinning. Through my shock, I register a very selfish emotion, one that shames me, but one I also grab on to with a death grip. It is fear of losing it in front of my team. Of how that will make me look, especially to James. Selfish, yes, but I recognize it for what it is, the tool I can use to get myself under control.
I grapple with the shock and sorrow that are struggling for dominance and manage to push them aside enough to speak. I'm surprised at the sound of my voice when it comes out: flat and steady.
'Let me take this point by point. On the first one, I'll deal with that myself. Let's address the second one. You're saying she was some kind of . . . Internet prostitute?'
A voice pipes up. 'No, ma'am, that's not accurate at all.'
It's the young kid from Computer Crimes. Mr. Earring. I look at him.
'What's your name?'
